


A Friendly Request

by QueerSherlockian (Anglophile_Fiend)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Dom/sub, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Professor!Lock, Spanking, Tattoo!lock, Tattoos, Unilock, tattoolock, toplock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophile_Fiend/pseuds/QueerSherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is quite the Chemistry professor; between the tattoos snaking across his body, and the piercing gaze that glimpses into your soul. Holmes is a feared, and revered instructor, especially, by young college freshman, John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Question Marks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jakathine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



“Alright class, don’t forget to read all three of the chapters about atomic structure for Thursday’s class. You are dismissed. Except...you, John Watson,” the raven-haired professor addressed the shocked freshman.

With his heart racing, John shoved his notebooks haphazardly inside his backpack, and looked around to catch the eye of his best friend, and roommate Mike. “Hey uh, don’t wait for me, okay?” John stammered. “I think I’m about to get chewed out, and I don’t need anyone around for that.”

“Sure, whatever. Laters.”

John nodded in reply and made his way down the auditorium steps towards the dais which held his dramatic, and theatrical Chemistry professor, the one and only Professor Sherlock Holmes

“Ummm, Professor Holmes, you wanted to talk to me about something?” John asked, his tongue darting between his lips in obvious nervousness.

“Yes, John. Walk with me to my office. I have some important business to discuss with you.”

Eyes downcast, John let his tongue slip outside his lips again before responding. “Alright.” John was forced to jog to keep up with his professor's long, steady gait, but he managed to stay close enough to make it to Professor Holmes's small office, number 221b.

“Take a seat, John.” Sherlock motioned to a chair opposite his messy desk.

“Woah. Professor Holmes, your office is uh...interesting,” John proffered as he evaluated half-complete experiments, bits of random equipment, and what he was certain was a real human skull.

“Ahem. Focus, John. We need to talk.” Sherlock tugged the fronts of his shirt out of his pants, pulled off his glasses, and used the tails to wipe them.

“Ah, sure, Professor Holmes, what is it? Is it about my lab report, 'cause I know that I can do better!”

Sherlock cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No, nothing like that. And I insist you call me Sherlock as we’re no longer in the classroom,” he said while returning his glasses to their rightful place atop his nose.

“Oh, of course Prof- Sherlock.” John corrected himself and felt the blood rush into his face.

“Well you see, I observe things, John. Things that ordinary people don’t notice. And I can deduce powerful information from those observations”.

John licked his lips and gripped the seat edges a bit.

“And I’ve called you here because I have a deduction I would like to share with you,” Sherlock intoned as he began to roll up his sleeves.

John’s pulse thumped and his throat went dry. “Okay,” he said, a hair’s breadth above a whisper.

“You are obviously attracted to me sexually, and you have a kink for tattoos, of which I have many,” Sherlock announced. John's face began to flush and he realized his jaw had gone slack. “Don’t bother trying to deny it. My deductions are infallible. In addition, I am also attracted to you and would very much like to engage in what is colloquially referred to as a ‘friends-with-benefits’ situation. That is, if you are amenable to the fact that work comes first, I am often silent for extended periods of time, and I get tattoos when I need to think.”

Sherlock finished rolling his sleeves, revealing a panoply of colorful tattoos dancing around his muscular forearms, with a tight grin that did not reach his eyes.

John finally closed his mouth to swallow audibly, and his eyes were still blown wide.

“Tell me John. Does this potential arrangement suit you?”

John scrubbed at hand through his ash blond hair, and said resolutely, “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled. “Well, then, the game is on!”


	2. In Reply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part II cont...

“Game?” John peered quizzically up into Sherlock’s silvery eyes.

“Yes," Sherlock replied. "This sex-without-strings deal is going to be a fantastic game! Granted, we’ll have to set some ground rules.”  He shifted back to sit on the edge of his desk, legs akimbo and hands tucked under his chin in a prayer-like pose.

 

“Fine, what kind of rules?” John countered, leaning forward in his chair.

“Mmmm, well condoms obviously. Health checks will be exchanged, and since neither of us wants the University to discover this...pact, we will have to operate with the utmost discretion. You may not tell any of your little mates about us.”

 

“Could I just… just tell one- my best friend? He won’t tell anyone I promise, Mike is a solid guy. I swear, I can vouch for him.”

“Alright, I’ll acquiesce on that point, but no others!” he asserted. “Furthermore, we need to establish a protocol for encounters. I was thinking-”

 

John stood up with a sudden quickness, invading Sherlock’s space. “Hey, keep it secret, keep it safe. I can do that.”

“What?” Sherlock bleated with a baffled look.

Snickering, John answered, “It’s a famous quote, never mind. My point is...this _game_ , is just between us, and we’ll keep it that way. We’ll be safe, and if either one has an issue, we bring it up with the other,  agreed?”

 

“Fine,” Sherlock nodded, “that’s all fine.”

“Excellent!” John’s face broke out into a wide grin as he stepped between Sherlock's spread thighs. Something warm swirled in Sherlock, and spiked when John laid a soft hand on his tattooed forearm. “You know, I’d love to hear why you chose these art pieces,” John queried. He traced the golden feathers of what he assumed to be a phoenix with deft fingertips.

“In time, Watson.” Sherlock’s voice dropped an octave as he angled down. His breath ghosted hotly, as he whispered in John’s ear, “You know, I have them _all_ _over_ my body.”

 

That visual combined with Sherlock's voice, and proximity, sent shivers down John’s spine. His eyes drifted shut, as his lips parted on a soft "Oh." Sherlock took complete advantage of the pause, and shifted to plant a firm kiss on John's pink lips.

 

A small groan of pleasure trapped itself in John’s throat as he pressed back into the warm brush. Sherlock slid his tongue deftly past John's lips, and wound both arms around his waist. John slid his hands up Sherlock’s arms and shoulders until he reached the shaved portion of his head.

 

John relished the prickly texture of Sherlock’s partially shorn scalp. He continued his caress, and drew down to the sides of Sherlock's neck, then back up to gently thumb across the gauges and piercings that adorned Sherlock's ears. Sherlock hardened against him, and a moan finally escaped John's lips.

 

Seizing the opportunity, Sherlock invaded John’s mouth deeper with his tongue, and John wasted no time in twinning it with his own. They were both enraptured in their heated kiss when Sherlock drew away to nuzzle at John’s neck.

 

Sherlock sucked on his pulse point, hard enough to make John cry out,“oh no, you... Sherrr-… _!_ ” John trailed off. Sherlock pulled off the reddened skin with a wet noise.

“Is everything alright?” Sherlock looked ravaged- lips swollen, hair tousled, and his face a mask of concern.

“Yeah, oh yeah, this is….all, fine.”

“That’s not what you said a moment ago. You said ‘No.’ That means 'stop' in my book.”

“Ah, right, yeah sorry ‘bout that. We clearly need a safeword”.

“Hmmm, our first encounter and we’re _already_ hunting for SM protocols- this _is_ an interesting turn of events,” he mused, quirking a dark eyebrow.

John hesitated. “In a good way?” he asked, eyes full of trepidation.

Sherlock gave a predatory grin. “Absolutely. Now, about a word; what do you think of ‘Vatican Cameos’?

“Well, it’s not something I would ever say,” John snorted in derision, “so, sure-‘Vatican Cameos’ works.”

 

John reached up to snatch the black, plastic glasses off Sherlock's face, and gave him a mischievous smile as he dropped them onto a stack of papers. “Now, where were we?”

The grin dropped from Sherlock’s face, only to be replaced with a powerful wolfish stare. Then he dove for John’s sensitive neck.

 

“Oh gods, Sherlock!” John yelped, “yes, no, oh yeah. p-p-please don’t stop!” Sherlock complied, and latched on tighter with a ferocity that even he was unprepared for. Though he made sure to keep the pressure light enough not to break the skin he used lips, tongue, and teeth to undo John. There would be blue-black blooms in a few hours, but the desire to mark him was stronger than his sense of propriety. This was made more evident by the way he scraped his nails along John’s back through his thin, striped t-shirt.

 

John let out a hiss, searching for friction as he arched his hard cock into the air between them. “Oh bloody hell,” he muttered, hands wandering along Sherlock's body. He wasn't sure where to touch, but he was unable to stop grasping. He moved lower, and felt Sherlock's hard bulge. Wanting it in the worst way, John slipped through Sherlock's hold. He dropped down into a squat, face hovering near the professor’s straining erection. John tipped his head, and ran his mouth along the soft corduroy of Sherlock's grey trousers, pulling a fervent whine from Sherlock.

 

Eager to taste Sherlock, John undid his flies, and tugged slim trousers, and black pants down his thighs. Sherlock's reddening cock sprung free. It was both thinner, and longer than his own, but so beautiful John couldn't wait to get his lips around it. He then noticed two large antlers shooting up from the cursive scrawl of the word ‘Veritas’ right above that perfect cock.

“Damn, Sherlock, these tattoos... mmm, you’re hot as fuck!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I _told_ you I had them all over. Did you think I was exaggerating?”

John reached toward his moistening prick. “Uh uh uh," Sherlock tutted. "Aren’t we forgetting something?” He leaned over, reached into a jar on his desk, and pulled out a foil square.

 

“You keep a jar of condoms on your desk? Why? Wait, never mind, I don’t wanna know. Listen, I hate giving head through plastic. Can’t we just skip it?”

“No, John. Rules are rules. You either agree to them, or get out.” Sherlock spoke with finality.

“Fine, gimme that.” He snatched the condom, ripped it open, and rolled it along Sherlock's cock. It had softened a bit, but John took that as a personal challenge and plunged his lips wantonly upon it. He mouthed at the tip, before painting stripes with his tongue along the shaft. The he swirled his tongue around the head and focused on it's soft and sensitive underside. John looked up at him, bright eyes wide under fluttering lashes, and Sherlock was rock hard. 

John moved his hands from holding Sherlock's clothing to holding him. He had one wrapped around the base of Sherlock's cock, and the other his soft sack.  John soon found a rhythm of steady pumping, rolling, and sucking.

“Yes, John, please,  _please_ , don’t stop!” Sherlock threw his head back, overwhelmed with the surprising expertise of John's hands and mouth. His own hands were white-knuckled on the desk, as he struggled to breathe.  John's mouth was so hot and wet, that he couldn't help but give a sharp buck. Without ceasing his onslaught of pleasure, John moved a hand to Sherlock's pale hip, and held him in place. Sherlock grunted at being manhandled but the pleasure he was receiving was greater than his need to be in control at the moment.   

Sherlock then eased at feeling of John grounding him in place, and released a hand from his death grip on the desk, to thrust into John's soft blonde hair. It was too fine and short to give him leverage, so he moved along to the longer fringe in front which John had dyed a brilliant turquoise.  As he tightened his fingers, John slipped lower and Sherlock felt himself bumping at the back of John's throat. “Right there, oh _yes_...” he continued to moan, as John hollowed his cheeks around him, and bobbed up and down on his aching cock.

 

“Fuck, I’m close, _harder_ , yes, _ohhh_!” Sherlock wailed at the building tension. He could feel every muscle in his body, and the dripping of sweat along his clenched face. “I’m going to...John...close...!” he pleaded for John to push him over the edge. John’s eyes flicked open with a wicked gleam, as he took Sherlock's cock deep into his throat again. John drooled, and swallowed around the head, still without the barest hint of a gag reflex, and let his tongue massage Sherlock.

Sherlock gave a sharp gasp, John's gaze still fixed upon on his face, and pulled hard at John's hair.  Seconds later Sherlock's hips flew off the table, and he released hard into John’s perfect mouth.  His body bowed forward, shoving his cock deeper down John's throat. Not minding in the least John continued sucking him through the orgasm, trying to breath through his nose, and wishing he could taste cum instead of latex. Sherlock’s entire body exploded in waves of pleasure, mouth open soundlessly.

John waited till Sherlock's body began to relax before he pulled off, and inhaled sharply. His throat felt bruised and scratchy, but he leaned back in, and slurped at Sherlock's softening cock. When Sherlock finally slumped back against the table, John let the cock slide from him, and swiped a sleeve at his messy mouth. “Do you have some napkins or somethin’ around?” John asked.

Sherlock stared at his face for a long moment, transfixed. John's puffy pink lips, and wildly messed up hair gave him a debauched look that had Sherlock's cock twitching. He blinked to pull him out of his thoughts, and gestured towards a tissue box in the corner. John retrieved them, removed the condom, wadded it up, and gently wiped at Sherlock before tossing the whole lot into a nearby bin. 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock murmured as he stood, and put himself back together. “You had better leave now.”

John looked stunned. “What? Now? W-what about me?" John gestured at his crotch, "what of this? I’m just supposed to go out there with a tent pitched in my pants and get bloody blue balls? Is that what you're really expecting of me?”

 

Sherlock stilled completely, accessed his mind palace, and retrieved the stored file he had on John. He knowingly lowered his pitch, “ Oh yes. That's exactly what I expect. You’ll cum when I say you can, and not a moment sooner. So, don’t lay a hand on yourself, John. Feel free to beg all you'd like, but it won't change the fact that I'm now in control, and you'll do as I say if you want the game to continue. ”

John’s pupils blew wide, and Sherlock was certain his calculations were correct. "You're kinky." John murmured.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked with one hitched eyebrow.

John shook his head, "no, no, nope! That's the uh- opposite of a problem."

“Great." Sherlock's gaze flick to the clock, "Time to go," he continued with an authoritative ‘teacher voice.' Sherlock deftly moved around John and over to unlock the door. It finally sparked John into action, and he followed. Then Sherlock spun around, and they were centimeters apart.

 

“Oh, you should know, I input my contact information in your mobile as we were walking over.”

“Wait, you swiped my phone so you could call me?” John asked as he stepped out of the office feeling off-balance.

“No. I prefer to text. Goodbye.”

 

Sherlock closed the door in his face, and John heard the _snick_ of a lock. John stood there, motionless and slack-jawed, as a million thoughts whizzed through his brain. He felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his smartphone to see the text alert symbol. _  
_

 

Pro Home:

  _Thanks again_

 

John’s face lit up with sentiment, and he grinned at the bright screen.

Then another message buzzed through.

 

 Pro Home

_Go to your rooms, and leave it alone!_

 

Which yanked a small laugh out of him, and John thought, _Well, guess I should head back. Mike’s probably wound that I’m not back yet._ He gave the office one last look before taking off down the hall. He couldn't wait to see his professor again.


	3. Learning is FUNdamental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit o' backstory, and boys getting tattoos. XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this has turned into multi-chaptered fic. Don't know how that happened, but there is more to come.

Walking back to the dorm from a brutal rugby practice, John didn't feel as light as he often did. Most days post-practice, he’d felt energized and on fire. He was often spurred on by the heady adrenaline rushes. Which led to all-nighters, where the team would drink until they struggled to walk. They always had fun, but he just wasn’t in the mood today. To John’s dismay, his roommate picked up on it, the moment he walked into their tiny room.

 

Jim crowed from his bed, “Watson, it's early. Don't tell me ya turned down the chance to get a free pint from your mates!” Papers and notebooks scattered around his lithe, and prone form. He held a highlighter hovering over a thick chemistry textbook. The same book all three roommates had, as they all sat for Professor Holmes's Chemistry course. Jim, thankfully, was in a different section than John and Mike.

 

John answered by giving him a quick glare from the doorway before walking over to his desk.

Jim realized he wasn’t going to take the bait, so he tried a different tactic. “What’s going on with you?” He dropped the pen, and narrowed his gaze to focus on John’s face. “You’ve been acting suspicious.”

 

“Oh, fucking hell. I dunno." John replied plopping down onto his desk chair. "I’m just...frustrated.” He proceeds to organize a few already-sorted notebooks.  Not wanting to give Jim any more ammo, he lies, "Chem is just a ton of work, alright."

Jim isn't mollified, “What? I know you haven't done any of the readings for tomorrow’s quiz. And mid-terms are next week! I also know you go to every single class, Mike says you won’t sit anywhere but the front row. But you know you can’t pass without doing the reading, right Johnny-boy?” Jim tittered at John’s disapproving frown.

 

“I’ve been studying for my other classes too. I don’t need to study for that class like I do the others. Besides,  what do you care anyway?” John 's tone barked harsher than intended. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to stop the oncoming headache he knew his roommate would bring around. 

“Oooh, touchy touchy. Can’t a fellow be concerned about his mmmmate?” Jim gave a sickening imitation of a smile that was more  grimace, and quite unsettling.

 

John paused at the word ‘mate’. Since day one, Jim had done nothing but manipulate John and Mike. The evidence was clear, as John and Mike shared a bunk bed while Jim got his own single bed. Plus, they had been convinced to allow him to move it next to the room’s only window. John hadn’t figured how Jim managed to play them, until it was too late.  The triple-person room was cramped, and John was all too aware that it was the last place he wanted to be. 

 

 

“Whatever Jim, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’m off to hit the showers.” He moved to his dresser, plucked out a clean outfit, and his shower gear. Then kicked off his muddy rugby trainers, and replaced them with flip-flops.

“Bye, bye dearie.” Jim waggled a few fingers in John’s direction as he moved to leave the room. “Don’t forget to use soap!” He added with a sharp laugh at his own joke. A fraction of a second later, the smile dropped from his face and he turned back to his studies.

 

John paid him no mind as he headed out, and he knocked on the door just across the hall.

“Yes, hello?”

“Cece, it’s me. Open up.”

A tall ginger cracked the door. “Me? Me who? Me as in my bestie John H. ‘I-still-don’t-know-what-the-H-stands-for-'cuz-you-refuse-to-tell-me’ Watson?”

 

John’s face cracked into a sappy smile. “Yes, that’s exactly who it is. And no, I still am not going to tell you what the ‘H’ stands for.”

The beautiful girl stepped closer to give him a hug, but stopped before touching him. “Oh dear-heart, you smell awful.” She tucked her arms into her chest, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No offense.”

 

John’s smile widened, as he held up his items. “Where do you think I’m going with all this stuff? I was on my way to shower.” He snorted and looked skyward, “Note to self, next time I’m feeling terribly masochistic, go find Cece.”

“Oh come on, you know I love you. What’s up?”

“I’m famished, wanna go for dinner when I’m done?”

“Sure, canteen?”  
“Yup. I’ll come back when I’m dressed.”

“K. Hey, if you see Linda in there, tell her that Professor Holmes is ours. I heard her talking today about how she’s going to seduce him. Yeah, right! Like a man that brilliant and gorgeous would A) waste his time with her, and B) ‘get with’ a fresher. I mean, come on! She thinks he’d risk his entire livelihood for her? Bitch, please!” She made a face that goaded John into a nervous giggle.

 

John started to sweat a bit as he was dying to tell her about his ‘Game’. Though he’d promised Sherlock that only Mike would know. He kicked himself internally for not thinking of Cece. They were much closer than he and Mike, but he’d just seen him, and so his was the name that popped up when he was with Sherlock. Cece and John had long ago come out to one another. Her as a pansexual and he as bisexual, so his arrangement  with another man wouldn't shock her in the slightest. That man being Professor Holmes, however, was an entirely different situation. 

 

His mind drifted to the last time he’d seen the professor. He’d been so full of lust and power... John's mouth began to water. It had been almost forty hours since their dalliance. B _ut who’s counting_ , John thought, and he had followed Sherlock's command, he'd not ‘handled’ himself except to shower.  It was driving him batty, but he obeyed. He wanted to submit to his Professor , to be commaned, taken care of, and treasured. He wanted-

“John? Earth to John! Hello?

He registered Cece's voice, and shook his head to clear out the image.

“JOHN!” Are you listening to me? Cece demanded. I’m talking about our punk rockstar of a professor and you disappear inside your brain. Ohhhh! You were thinking about him naked weren’t you?” she chided. “Him out of all those skinny jeans and flannel-”

“No, no. I was...I was thinking about how midterms are next week and I haven’t studied at all for that class.” John smiled, impressed with himself, for the quick-thinking lie.

“I know, ugh. My genetics module is killing me. But, let’s chat over dinner, hmm? You are really rather...uh...ripe darling.”

“Yeah, sorry. Be back soon alright?”

“Sure thing luv, bye.”

Cece turned back into her room and John headed down the hall to the communal bathroom. As it was early evening, the shower area was empty and John wished it wasn’t. Sharing a bedroom with two other people had made it easy to keep his hands out of his pants.  Having the steamy room all to himself ,did nothing to help him follow Sherlock's  command.  He sped through his routine, trying to make cleanup as quick as possible.  The  warm soapy hand over his dick didn’t improve the situation, but held back.

 

When he finally made it back to his room, orgasm still denied, Jim was in the exact same position as he’d left him.

“Well, that was fast. Even for you!” He declared at John without looking up from his papers.

“Stuff it, Jim,” John ordered. He collected his essentials, turned on his phone, and saw a text message notification.

 

 Pro Home

_1470 Sheffield Rd. 6pm_

 

John glanced up at the time, 5:27.  _Shit_. He wasn’t going to make it unless he left this exact moment. “Laters Jim!” he tossed behind him as swept out of their room to bang on Cece’s door. “Ceeeee Ceeeee, answer the door, I gotta go!”

The door flew open and his best friend looked like she wanted to throttle him. “Where do you have to go?” She asked pointedly, hands on her hips, and eyes narrowed.

“Uh...it’s this um, study group thing. I forgot I was leading a micro-bio group. Can I get a raincheck on dinner?”

 

She sighed while rolling her eyes. Ensuring John knew she was resigned to his departure without her. “Yeah. Fine. But you better fill me in on all the details of this ‘study group’,” she supplied.

The shocked look on his face told her all she needed to know.

“Yup, just as I thought. And I mean it, I want to know everything about this person. I need to live vicariously through you, as I’m in genetics midterm hell.”

“I adore you Cece, you're the bee's knees, my darling!”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get going before I change my mind.” Her tone was filled with a levity that contrasted the serious glare she gave him.

“Bye!” he called out as he ran down the hallway, taking the stairs, not even wanting to wait for the elevator.

 

***************************

John tugged his leather coat tight around him. He secqured the zip up high, before shoving hands deep in his pockets. He walked down the unfamiliar street in the blustery cold. Wishing he’d thought to bring gloves, but knowing he’d been too excited about the text to think about anything else.

 

He found the address without incident other than frozen fingers. A smile spread across his face when he looked up at the store's marque,  **Sin’s Tattoo Shop.** John felt the name was appropriate for the man in there, getting his umpteenth tattoo. John pushed the dingy glass door and a tinkling sound alerted the front desk person.

 

“Hi, welcome to Sin’s what are you here for today?”

“I’m uh...looking for my….er, friend, Professor Sherlock Holmes?”

“Ah, you must be John, yes?”

He nodded in affirmation.

“Just head on through the curtain, they’re the only ones here right now 'cuz it’s early.”

“Thanks.”

 

He ducked in though the heavy drapes separating the entryway from the tattooing tables. He could see Sherlock’s legs sticking out, but the rest hidden by the artist who bent over him, machine buzzing away.

“Hello, John. Come in.” Sherlock instructed from the table.

“Hi, Sherlock. Hello, sir...uh…S.” John’s voice faltered, not knowing how one was to address a tattoo artist.

 

“Sin, this is John. John, Sin. Hooray, we all know each others names now, what a time to be alive.” Sherlock mocked from his belly and shoved his face back down into the table. John stayed in the walkway, but peered around the artist to find Sherlock was shirtless. He was getting his back covered with an enormous piece, but John couldn't make out what of.

 

“Hi, I’m John, it’s nice to meet you.” He said, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot

The artist paused his machine, and looked up. He appeared to be of Filipino descent, and had almost every inch of exposed skin marked with geometric tattoos. “Nice to meet you too,” Sin said with a broad smile before turning back to his work.

 

John moved closer. “Is that a...lion?” John asked. Sin had completed only part of the detailed outline, which in and of itself was a beautiful piece of art. He couldn’t wait to see the finished piece, it would no doubt be breathtaking.

The artist spoke over the relentless buzzing of his machine, “It’s the Nemean Lion, the first task of Heracles.”

“Oh.” John hadn’t a clue as to what he was talking about, but didn’t want to admit his lack of knowledge of the classics. He had always been science-focused, and wasn’t sure that he’d even heard of Heracles before. He racked his brain, but came up empty.

 

“John! Stop it!” Sherlock moaned, drawing John out of his thoughts.

“Huh? Stop what?” he replied, face scrunched with puzzlement.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your head, and they are driving me mad.” He gave a deep sighed, then continued. “Heracles was a hero from Greek mythology. A child of Zeus and Alcmene, who was sentenced to ten labours to atone for the killing of his own children. The first labour was to slay the Nemean Lion whose fur was weapon-proof.”

“So... you’re getting a murdered lion on your back?” John asked skeptically.

“No. I’m getting a reminder that even the strongest of us are not invincible or immortal. We all die in the end. It’s how we live that matters,” Sherlock proclaimed. Sin continued to scrape black lines onto the planes on his pale skin.

 

John was speechless. He’d known that his professor was a brilliant man. Everyone talked about how Sherlock was a prodigy and could have been a Nobel Prize-winning chemist. They also said his ‘addictions,’ and problematic personality kept him from advancing beyond holding basic classes. Or even finding any graduate students willing to help with his research.

 

So, the explanation of this tattoo was surprising and touching. Sherlock was getting a vulnerable creature on his back, a powerful one to be sure, but it seemed personal. John had never expected Sherlock to show this side of himself.

 

He didn’t think Sherlock ‘did’ emotions, especially not profound ones. John wondered if he had lost someone important to him. And why did he want John to see this? It felt so intimate and weren’t they just fuck buddies? He let the questions filter though his mind while he walked over to the long padded table. He laid a hand on Sherlock's folded-up bicep, which was supporting his head.

 

“That’s brilliant, Sherlock. Really, you are remarkable!” John gushed.

“Thank you.” He’d never admit it, but Sherlock felt a little blush creep up his neck. He was thankful that his position hid any evidence of that sentiment.

 

The buzzing stopped, and Sin looked up at John. “Are you ready to get your piece?”

“My what?”

“Artwork. Your tattoo? I’m done with the outline, and I can do yours if you're ready.”  
“Wait. What? I’m not getting a.... I just came here to see-” He stopped himself to glower at the professor. “Sherlock, what have you planned?”

“It’s over there on the table, check it out.” Sherlock spoke, while sliding up to a seated position. “Go on.” He advised with a small head gesture.

 

John crept over to the desk. There he saw a lightbox, and on top of it was a sheet of paper with pair of fist-sized red and black stars. He picked up the paper and was so engrossed in studying it that he didn’t notice Sherlock until he whispered in his ear.

 

“They’re nautical stars. They represent the compass rose... They will guide you on your journey and adventures around the world, but will always, bring you home.” He paused. “Do you like them? You don’t have to get them, remember that John. You never have to do anything you don’t want to. I will always respect your hard limits.” Sherlock ducked his head to rest on John’s shoulder, and wound his arms around John’s waist. John leaned back into him, and the pair stood there a moment, staring at the drawing together.

 

“Sherlock...” was all John could mutter, he was so touched. He’d never been adept at expressing emotions either. How did Sherlock know so much about him? Did this mean that Sherlock wanted something more than just sex from him? He knew it was too soon to tell, and that Sherlock would likely  tire of him soon, so he made up his mind. “I want them. Where should I get them?”

“I think you should get them...right...here.” Sherlock said while sliding a hand under John’s shirt and ghosting fingertips along his back. They stopped just above his belt.

 

“Wait. Isn’t that a girlie thing? There’s a name for it...slapper stamp. Sherlock, I’m not getting a slapper stamp!”

This brought a deep laugh from both Sherlock and the artist cleaning up his station behind them.

“Since when is being a tart a bad thing?” Sin spoke up.

“It’s um….well….I guess it's not.” John spun around to look up into Sherlock’s color-shifting eyes. Today they were soft, and John got lost in trying to decipher their colour for a moment.

Sherlock broke the silence,“John. Do you want them or not?”

“I do.”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and backed away. “Well then off with your hideous jumper and shirt, and lie down.” He gave a sweeping gesture with an outstretched arm. John looked a bit peaked but followed the directions without complaint.

 

Sin spoke to John in a calm tone, “I’ll explain everything that’s going to happen okay? And when I’m done, I’ll tell you about the aftercare.” It was a speech no doubt given to first-timers, nervous about their new, yet permanent, addition.

“No worries, mate.” John tried his best to sound casual, as he laid his half-naked form down on the table. His mind was racing with thoughts of infection, disease, and regret, but he pushed them all aside. He trusted Sherlock. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew deep in his heart that he'd never do anything to intentionally harm John. He let out a breath he’d been holding. “Let’s do this.”

 

Sin was as professional as he was talented, and did in fact explain everything before starting. John steeled himself for the pain. He found, however, that after the initial few moments, it stopped hurting. In fact is was almost relaxing.

 

He turned his head to the professor standing next to him.

“Hey, it’s not as bad as I thought. I can see why you get these to help to think. It's fascinating! You are brilliant, Sherlock!” John complimented him yet again, and Sherlock stood a bit straighter, glowing from the praise. He ran a hand through John’s blue and blond locks.

 

“What’s with this colour on your fringe?” Sherlock asked while fingering the blue portion of John’s hair.

“Cece- that’s my other best friend. She told me that it would serve a dual purpose; making me look cute, while also letting the gay boys know I was open without having to say anything.”

“Oh? Is blue hair some sort of secret gay-code that you young people have these days?”  
“Sherlock, you’re like what, eight, nine years older than me? I don’t think that much has changed since you were in uni. It’s just that I'm Bi so I have to give some sort of clue to other blokes. You know, to let them know I  _play on their team_.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, I think your face give you away more than any hair color from a bottle.”

“My face?”

“Yes, every time our eyes locked in class, your pupils would blow out, and you would start licking your lips.”

“Really? I don’t do that, do I? Ahhhh!” John gave a little cry as Sin’s needle ran over a particularly sensitive bit of flesh.

 

“Sorry,” Sin called out to him, “this can be a delicate part to ink, would you like me to stop?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Are you almost done?”

“Yep. Close. I’ll try to work fast for ya, newbie.” John couldn’t see it, but he could hear the smile in Sin’s ribbing.

 

As the minutes ticked by, the only audible sounds were Sin’s machine and his chair as he creaked back and forth to get more ink. Sherlock remained standing over John, his hand never leaving John’s head. Sometimes, his fingers would card through John's hair, others he’d rub a thumb over his ear. The caresses continued until Sin announced he was finished. John got up to inspect the work in a nearby mirror.

“Holy fuck! Sin, that’s perfection. I love it! You were so right, Sherlock. They look awesome there. I can’t wait to show everyone!”

Sherlock gave him a genuine smile, it was so warm that it made John’s heart thump heavy in his chest.

“Come back over here. I’ll wrap you up and explain how to take care of it.” Sin spoke with authority, and John trotted back over.

 

A short while later, the pair stepped out of studio. Rustling softly as the plastic wrap Sin had taped over their pieces shifted underneath their clothes. Sherlock pulled on an expensive-looking long coat and a pair of black leather gloves. John folded up a paper with the litany of instructions for caring for his new tattoo, and shoved it into a pocket. Then slipped his leather coat over his jumper. They were both visibly giddy from the shared experience, and grinned at one another. Their breath turning them into temporary dragons as they exhaled into the frigid night air.

  
“Thanks for popping my tattoo-cherry Professor Holmes.” John said in a faux-seductive voice, while doing up his coat buttons.

“John, what did I say about calling me that outside of school?”

Looking chastised, John blinked up from under his golden lashes with a grin. “Guess that means you’ll have to punish me later, Sherlock.” This stopped Sherlock in his tracks, and he turned to face John with a menacing squint.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, John Watson.”

John twisted into Sherlock’s space, raising up on balls of his feet to be closer to eye level. “Who says I don’t mean it? Who says I don’t want you to punish me? Maybe I want to be put in my place. Ever think about that, brilliant Sherlock Holmes?” He challenged without a hint of fear.

 

Sherlock’s knees buckled at the startling confession. He looked around at the empty street. They were in a industrial area, but not an isolated one. The couple walking down the sidewalk forced him to make up his mind. He grabbed the a fistful of John’s jumper poking out from his jacket.

“Come.”

John's body vibrated with excitement of the unknown. He hoped that whatever was going to happen, that it would end in release. He longed for the tiniest of orgasms. Though, he  wouldn’t dare request anything from Sherlock when he was barking orders at him like that.

 

Never letting go of the soft grey jumper, Sherlock led a stumbling John back into the studio.

“Janey. We need to use the...back room.”

“Sure, whatever. Sin just left, but Brucie will be here soon or something.”  
“Excellent. Thank you Janey,” Sherlock extended, but didn’t wait for a reply as he continued to drag John deeper into the building.

 

Sherlock led him into a room at the end of the hallway, and flicked on a dim light. It appeared to be some kind of employee break room, but it was more like a studio apartment with bedroom furniture and a full-sized kitchen.

 

“What are we doing here, Sherlock?” John asked as he heard the lock click in the windowless box of a room.

“Uh-uhh.” Sherlock tutted at him. “There is no speaking until you’re spoken to, boy. Unless it’s to say, ‘Yes, sir.’ Do you understand?”

John shivered a bit at the command, bit his lower lip and nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good, there’s a good boy. Now, take off your shoes, socks, trousers, and pants. Then come here.”  
John performed his tasks as instructed, and with haste. He then scurried over to Sherlock, who’d taken residence in a large wing-backed chair. John thought he looked like a fairy-tale prince on his throne. Sherlock's long coat fanning out behind him and his legs crossed showing off heavy black boots. Sherlock had chosen glossy black makeup that matched his piercings, and he looked in total control. John gave a loud gulp when he took in the sight of him.

 

“Down,” Sherlock said without moving a muscle other than his jaw. His leather-gloved hands folded up underneath his chin in his prayer-like pose.

John dropped to his knees on the floor. He winced as bone made contact with the hardwood floor, but it dragged him back into his body. Much like the tattoo had done mere minutes before.

 

“You’ve been naughty, John, and so you must be punished. I think fifteen whacks will do. That's one for each letter of the name you are specifically NOT supposed to call me would be appropriate. Do you agree, boy? Do you think a proper spanking is in order?”

“Yes, SIR!” John said, in a sharper tone than he’d intended. He tugged at his shirt, attempting to cover his naked bottom.

“Excellent, up then. On my lap. There we go.” Sherlock encouraged John, who moved closer to the chair. John kept his head down, and arms folded respectfully behind his back. John planted his feet flat on the ground next to the chair. Then bent flat at the waist so his head draped over the far arm of the chair. Exposed, but his body wasn’t touching Sherlock’s.

 

If he thought he’d gained the upper hand with his display of flexibility, John was mistaken. Sherlock proved this as he gripped his jumper in one fist, and a taut buttock in the other and hauled John down to rest in his lap. John’s feet flew off the ground, while his arms remained clasped. Then he gave a little grunt as his neck and thighs landed hard on the unforgiving armrests. Sherlock gave the cheek closest to him a small rub, moving his gloved fingers in gentle circles. 

 

“Do we remember the safe word?” Sherlock asked with a hint of condescension.

“Yes, sir. Vatican Cameos, sir”

“Right.” Sherlock punctuated his reply with a sharp slap to the bit of flesh he’d been rubbing, and the leather stung pulling a moan out of the blond. “Ahem. Remember, John, you are not to achieve orgasm until I allow it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” John panted. He was thrilled to know that soon he would get the release, and relief that he’d been gagging for.

"That was  _One_ , I expect you to count the rest." Sherlock commanded. 

 

 ** _WHACK_**  “Two.”  ** _WHACK_**  “Three.”  ** _WHACK_**  “Four.” The sharp sound echoed throughout the cavernous room, and with each spank, John felt blood rushing into his cock. He wondered if Sherlock could feel his hardness, and wetness too, now that precome was leaking from his cock.

 

He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep from screaming with delight. Sherlock hadn’t said that he couldn’t make any noise, but he didn’t want to risk garnering Sherlock’s actual ire.

 ** _WHACK_**  “Eight.”  ** _WHACK_**  “Nine.” John was so hard by this point, he had to think of random things to keep from exploding.  _Cricket, the game, oh and the bugs which live in trees_.  ** _WHACK_**  “Eleven.”

John let out a whimper. He wished Sherlock would hurry up; all this tension was killing him, and his mind refused to focus on anything other than his throbbing dick, and his arse on fire, the kind that burned sweet, as Sherlock never hit the same place twice, and gave small rubs in between. 

 ** _WHACK_**  “Fourteen.”  ** _WHACK_**  “fifteen".

"There, all done. What a good boy you are, John.” Sherlock purred while kneading the red, raw skin of John’s arse and thighs with his still gloved hands. "So pretty and pink for me." Sherlock pressed hard, and pulled out a moan from John. “Would you like to cum now?”

“Yes,” John huffed out. “Sir.”

 

Sherlock twisted John’s shoulders with one arm and tugged his waist with the other. John found himself sitting in Sherlock’s lap. He gave a slight hiss, as the insistent burn felt almost too intense on Sherlock's rough trousers.  His back pressed up against Sherlock's chest. John felt loose and pliant, as Sherlock slipped off his remaning clothes. Sherlock slid down a bit and adjusted John. Now his legs hung off the armrests,  legs spread akimbo. It took some of the pressure off his sensitive bottom, but he felt so exposed. 

John smiled and let his head fall back onto Sherlock's shoulders.

"Comfortable boy?" Sherlock asked, and reached both arms around John’s waist.  John couldn't form words so he just nodded. Then one gloved hand ran over his cock, while the other brushed over a sensitive nipple. "You're such a good boy, well done. I'm proud of you." John's eyes fluttered shut.

Sherlock lifted the hand from John's cock to his face. "Lick it boy. Get is nice and wet for me." John obediantly lapped at the gloved palm without opening his eyes. When Sherlock felt it was slick he moved back down. He gave John's red and stout cock a few strokes, and John twitched and whimpered. “Please, sir.”

 

Sherlock bit an earlobe hard, released it, and said, “Do it. Come for me boy!” He squeezed his hand a bit tighter, pumping and sliding it along John's cock. John tensed, and moments later, white spurts jetted out from his thick cock.

A loud cry tore through him, and his hips bucked a staccato into Sherlocks's leather fist. He felt the hot cum on his own chest and knew Sherlock’s hand would coated as his sack felt wrung out. His mind was pulled under by the eartg-shattering strength of his orgasm. John had never had an experience like that, and he wanted to savor every moment. But his mind was shorting out, and he was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. It seemed as if every muscle in his body shuddered to life, and then disapeared.

Sherlock kept murmming and stroking John's cock. Telling John what a good boy he'd been, and how proud he was. He stopped stroking, and then wrapped John up in a tight embrace. Folding both legs together until John was curled up in his lap. He bened down to kiss the scoop where neck met shoulder and let John catch his breath, his chest straining. 

Sherlock could see John had dropped into that headspace, so he held tight and rocked a bit. He continued his deluge of sweet praise and soft kisses. John felt like a precious treasure as the words hummed along his body. He breathing evened out, and he ached to describe how amazing he felt.

“That was….that was...a….I can't say. Mmm. Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you Sir.”

Sherlock made a little hum in agreement, but didn’t take his lips off of John’s soft skin. "Shh. I know sweet boy. You're welcome"

A rattled doorknob, and a loud bang shocked them out of their daze. “Hey, you still in there? Aren't you done yet? 'I got here early to cook dinner and I’m fucking hungry, so hurry the hell up!”

The rant of the stranger (who was likely Brucie) sent them both into a fit of giggles.  They untangled their bodies and got up out of the large chair.

“Hang on a second.” Sherlock shouted, and left John’s side with a curt "Stay." John waited till he came back, with a flannel and no gloves. The wet and warm flannel which he used to gently cleanse John. "You should use that cream he gave you on your perfect bum, it'll help. If we had more time I'd do it for you.  Sherlock had let his curls partially obscure his face, and John clasped his chin with his thumb and forefinger to tip his head back up.

“And I appreciate that. Thank you Sherlock.” They grinned like fools at one another and swayed in towards a kiss. It wasn’t an urgent kiss, but neither was it languid; it was the kind of kiss that held promises of beautiful things to come. It was a kiss interrupted by Brucie’s loud screaming. “ _Hurry the fuck up! Hungry artist out here!_ ”

Which they did, and laughed about it all the way to underground. Where they parted on different trains, lips still warm from the final shared kiss.


	4. Texting or Sexting?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter...unless ppl want more...

Alone in one of the library’s dim Quiet Rooms, John sat chicken-pecking away on a research paper. His laptop's  blue light illuminated his fair skin, and the clutter spread along the desk. Also, books, papers, and various snack wrappers as he'd been there most of the day. Almost finished crafting the bibliography, John's phone chimed, indicating a text message.

 

Pro Home:  _I need brains_

 

John stared at the phone in confusion.  “What the fuck? _”_ he muttered at the tiny screen. His mind supplied an image of sexy tattooed Sherlock as a voracious zombie. John huffed a laugh, and shook his head, to erase the ridiculous concept. He knew it was more likely this was an autocorrect or giant hand mistake.  His mouth quirked in a wry smile, but John wasn’t sure how to respond.  This was the first message he’d gotten in over a week.

 

Giving his still-healing tattoo a careless scratch, John allowed his thoughts to drift back to their last meeting. A small pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. Two texts popped up with a double chime startlingly him out of the reflection.

 

Pro Home:  _Come to Chem lab 129 if convenient_

Pro Home:  _If inconvenient, come anyway_

 

John rolled his eyes at the last one,  _You git!_  It still didn't stop his little grin from turning into a full-fledged smile. He snached his rucksack from the floor, and shoved in all his belongings. Then made his way out of the Library, all the while, racking his brain for answers.

 _Why on earth would Sherlock want my help in the lab?_   _I’m just a freshman,_  b _ut  they say he never keeps grad students. Maybe there is something I can help him with. Fuck yeah! I’m going to be assisting the legendary Doctor Sherlock Holmes. This is almost better than sex with him...almost._ John decided and his steps were noticeably lighter as he strutted down the slick hallways towards the Physical Science department.  

 ************

 When John cracked open the door, he found Sherlock seated in an elegant curl around a ten-foot electron microscope. “Hullo? Pro-Sherlock?” A nervous flush spread across his face at the near blunder. John closed the door behind him, and continued into the Chemistry lab.

“Halt.” Sherlock called out with razor-sharpness, causing John to pause mid step. “Lock it.” John remained frozen in place, so Sherlock spoke again, “The door, John. Lock the door!”

“Right, yea, sure. On it!” John fumbled. His backpack ,and jacket slipped off his shoulder, making the simple act ridiculous. He hauled everything back up, locked, and double checked the lock. Then sauntered towards Sherlock in a way he hoped would appear confident. 

Sherlock pulled himself up, and away from the equipment. John drank in the sight of Sherlock. Not just a professor, but a gorgeous, tattooed one who held John's entire attention. He immediately dumped his belongings into an open chair.

 

“Thank you for coming, John. I am ready. Go fetch the skull jar over there, while I get comfortable.” Sherlock flapped a hand towards a clutter-filled lab table. John had forgotten what Sherlock kept in those jars. He wondered instead,  _Why on earth does he need to be comfortable to work with a microscope?_

John shrugged off the errant question, chalking it up to the bizarre practices of geniuses. He was more interested in finding out what project he'd be assisting with. His mind so full of potential experiments that is came as quite a shock when he opened the jar. It was of course, filled with condoms. John's jaw hung agape. The shock continued when a familiar sound thundered around the empty lab; a zipper split wide open.

 

He whipped around so fast he tweaked his neck, and was still floored when his gaze fell on Sherlock’s new position.  He was still on a stool, but had leaned back against an empty table, elbows rested, hands relaxed. Sherlock's lack of shirt showcased his colourful tattoos. His legs spread wide emphasized the hardening dick sprung from his tight red jeans. “Sherlock... w-what, what are you doing?” John whispered as loud as he dared, eyes flicking towards the covered windows and exits.

 

Sherlock barked out a laugh before saying, “Waiting for you to come over here, and fulfill my friendly request.”

“Wait… you texted me that you needed my brains, my help in the lab," John babbled. "THAT!” He pointed at Sherlock’s half-hard cock. “Is not…uh...what I thought you needed  _help_  with.” John face shifted from pink to rosy red. He gritted his jaw, and fisted his hands at his sides.

  
“Really, John? That’s surprising; I even used your street vernacular, when I informed you of my desire to have you perform oral sex upon me. Only of course until such time I am able to refocus my energies on my work here in the lab.  Obviously, I would've had my back piece worked on, but Sin is out ill at the moment.”

John paused to process for a beat, before he slapped a hand over his eyes, “Oh shite, you meant ‘Head’! The term is ‘Head, Sherlock! ‘Head’ not ‘Brains’!” And saying that me giving you head is SECOND choice over getting a tattoo? That's pretty rude. Even for you, Sherlock." John flexed and released his fists trying rid himself of the sudden anger. 

"Oh, apologies. Well, head, brains, whatever. They are colloquialy interchangeable, are they not?” Sherlock replied in his usual haughty tone. 

“No. Sherlock, they most certainly are not.” John relaxed his hands, along with the harried look upon his face. He took a deep breath, and lifted his face to show a broad smile. “You know Sherlock, that’s actually pretty funny.” He snorted, “I can’t even be mad at you when you make adorable blunders like that.”

Sherlock frowned, “There is nothing ‘adorable’ about me John.” He gave a small flex of biceps, and sat up straighter, “So, stop giggling like a schoolboy! I thought you were an adult. The kind of adult, who’s capable of kink involved, sexual encounters without attachment.”

John's smile glowed genuine, "I am Sherlock, it's all fine."

 

Sherlock’s face gleamed like a cat, "well then, Boy! Are you going to assist me, or not?”

The smile dropped from John’s face, pulse quickened, and he gulped before answering. “Yeah. I mean yes, Sir. It would be my pleasure, Sir.” He plucked one of those silver packets, and strode over to stand between Sherlock's spread legs. John gawked at Sherlock’s exposed body. He admired the pink nipples, the bright jeans pushed down and clinging to strong pale thighs. His eyes drank in the skin covered in beautiful, intricate tattoos. When his gaze finally reached Sherlock's cock, his mouth flooded with want.

John’s little pink tongue darted out to wet parched lips in anticipation. Then reached out to caress an antler tattoo on Sherlock's groin with a finger.  
"What shall I do, Sir?" John asked as he held up the slick condom in his other hand. 

Sherlock nodded, “Oh you are a good boy,”  John felt his cock twitch. "Put it on." John rolled the thin latex over Sherlock's lovely plumping cock, without question or hesitation. He used both hands to stroke the shaft with a gentle caress once it was on.  

Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the soft touch, and he slouched lower unto the table, hands gripping the edge, and spoke “No time to waste. I have a work to do. Take of your top.” Understanding that the game was still on, John  ripped off his jumper, and soft shirt underneath. He shivered a little, whether it was the air conned lab, or excited apprehension he couldn't tell. Then Sherlock let loose another volley of commands, “Suck my cock, Boy. Get me hard, so I can cum down your throat.” John’s pupils blew wide. Eyeing the slick covered cock, he wished he was able to swallow Sherlock's release. His tongue made furtive appearances with obvious desire at the thought.

 

“Yes, Sir. My pleasure, Sir.” John dropped a knee on the cold lino, when Sherlock’s voice rang out. “What are you doing?”

John looked up at Sherlock, face twisted in confusion, “I-I-I’m going to suck your cock?”

“I didn't say on your knees. Stay on your feet, Boy.”

John beamed at the mandate, and scrambled upright once again. He spread his legs a bit, bent at the waist, and reached for Sherlock’s cock.  One hand formed a circular fist that pumped with slow deliberate strokes. John placed his other on Sherlock’s thigh, and pulled his legs wider. 

 

John was eye level with Sherlock’s now erect, and sheathed cock. The tip of it shone with pre-cum, as John pumped his loose fist. He gave an experimental lick at the head, and sherlock shivered. John flicked a glance up for approval, ash-blonde lashes obscuring his bright blue eyes. Sherlock acquiesced with a slight nod. John ran his glistening tongue along his own lips to appear salacious. Then gathered up some saliva, and began an earnest licking up Sherlock’s length.

 

With a keen trapped in his throat, Sherlock puffed a sharp breath out his nose. John let his eyes fall shut, and Sherlock shouted, “NO, Boy! You keep your eyes open. You will watch me, while you suck my cock. Even while you're choking on it. The entire time, Boy-eyes open!” John felt his own member swelling at the explicit order. He couldn’t hazard a guess how Sherlock always knew exactly what to say. So, he silently thanked the heavens for Sherlock and his genius.

 

John dutifully maintained open eyes, as he slurped Sherlock’s cock down to the root. Sherlock could feel his sensitive head bumping the back of John’s throat, and his breath quickened. Sherlock marveled at the saliva pooling and trailing from John’s mouth. Watching with ever widening eyes as John bobbed up and down along Sherlock’s cock. He massaged it’s entirety with his strong, feathery tongue. Then made pained choking noises when he trapped a nose to Sherlock's thatch of hair. Sherlock knew John didn't have a gag reflex, but hearing those messy sounds still worked for him. 

 

John, desperately wanted to please his new lover, and so never ceased eye contact. Even when focused on his fist pumping faster and faster. Or taking Sherlock wet and deep, John stared into Sherlock’s opalescent eyes.  The heat between their gaze was palpable, and John’s entire world narrowed down to Sherlock. John’s dick was rock hard and straining inside of his jeans. He’d gone commando that day, and the zipper dug in with sharp pains. John enjoyed the sensation, and remained fixated on giving his lover a powerful orgasm.  

John’s other hand found it’s way inside the red jeans to Sherlock’s balls. He rolled and tugged at them with easy touches, causing Sherlock to jerk up with a shout.

 “Vatican Cameos!” John immediately stopped his ministrations, and pulled off Sherlock with a wet pop. He stood up and away, staggered back, and flung his hands into the air.

 

“What’s wrong Sherlock? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I'm sorry!” John’s eyes tinged with fear, as he wiped his mouth with a forearm.

“Oh yes. I’m fine, John.” Sherlock spoke with an effortless cool, even though his dick was hard and exposed.  “I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d very much like to cum your face. I've seen your medical files and I know you've seen mine. We know our own negative status of any STI's, but of course I need your permission for such an act."

It took John a few beats to switch gears from concern, to wanton abandon, but soon his entire face lit up. “Bloody Hell, fuck...I mean, yes Sir. Please do! Shit, why did we use the condom at all?" John asked as he moved back to grab at Sherlock's cock with both hands. He rolled the latex up and off, dropping it on the table with a squelch. "But may I ask permission to close my eyes?”

“Yes, but you will only close them when I tell you to. Understood?” Sherlock instructed, and John nodded. “ Now, it's time to finish, Boy. Hurry up! On your knees, now!”

John dropped to the lino again, this time both knees with a thud. He had no regard for his body as he dove for Sherlock’s red and pulsing cock. He wrapped his soft lips around the head, and sucked hard. He thought Sherlock tasted amazing, salty and smooth. He kept his tongue flat and rolling along the sensitive frenulum. One of John’s hands slid around to grip the thick base. While the other toyed with Sherlock’s sack again. 

Sherlock reached down, and grabbed the now purple fringe of John's mostly blonde hair, and tugged him closer. "Choke on it, boy!"  John let himself be led, and Sherlock’s cock slid down his throat.  John responded with positive gurgling noises.

 

Sherlock moaned at John’s hot throat, “OH YES! C-c-close boy. D-d-don’t stop!” John obeyed, and Sherlock's hips began to snap up.  John let him fuck his face with jerky thrusts, until he felt Sherlock’s sack tense up. 

Sherlock glared down at him"Now, boy! Just your hands." John slid off the dripping cock with only a bit of apprehension. Sherlock held fast to his coloured hair, as John used both hands to squeeze and slid along the length.

John allowed his gaze to wander to the delicious cock. He expected Sherlock to comment, but when glanced up, he found Sherlock's head thrown back. John smiled at the gorgeous sight. He pulled back and gave the head some light licks and swirls with his hot tongue. That was the tipping point. "CLOSE EYES," was all Sherlock got out before spurts of hot cum plastered John's face and chest.

Sherlock came with grunt, and few ‘oh gods,’ but John stayed silent, eyes shut, letting the slick load drip down his body. He continued sliding his hands along Sherlock’s cock, milking it completely. Until, Sherlock drew back, and John finally let him go.

 

“Open your eyes, John” Sherlock said,  and John complied. He couldn't feel any wetness on them, and fluttered them open. He eyed Sherlock with a coquettish grin.

“Thank you. That was...indescribable.” Sherlock admitted, as he ran a finger through his own mess on John's chin. "You look fantastic and wrecked. Sherlock, stored the image away in his mind palace. "Stay there, don't move," Sherlock said while stepping away. 

He came back, already tucked into his jeans, but still shirtless. "Close your eyes," Sherlock told him in a low tone. John complied, as Sherlock wiped the sticky spunk with a moist flannel. "There you go, all clean. Are you doing alright, beautiful boy?" John's face glowed, as he loved the attention. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." 

 

John swayed a bit, and Sherlock got down on the floor. He grabbed John by the shoulders, and pulled him down into his lap. One arm cradled his back, while the other stroked his cheek. "Comfortable?" Sherlock murmured into John's bare shoulder. John nodded with a soft sigh. 

Sherlock continued"You were so good John, so obedient. I'm proud of you young man." John opened his eyes again. "You're welcome S'loc-" Sherlock cut him off with gentle kisses. John accepted the soft, pliant lips with a throaty groan. He let Sherlock lick the taste of himself out of John's mouth.

He felt utterly owned and used, and it was nothing but pure pleasure. His mind was a sea of calm, and couldn't recall ever feeling so treasured and adored. John's entire body slumped into Sherlock's embrace. Then he felt Sherlock’s hand palm his cock through the jeans, and he tensed up. “Uh…um?” John trailed off.

“What is it John? Speak up, don’t you want some reciprocity?” Sherlock worried, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

John snuggled deeper into Sherlock, hiding his face. “Not really, cuz I kinda like it when you tell me what to do...or in this case...not to do. It makes it awesome later.”

 

Sherlock understood. "Are you ready to get up then?" John gave a slight nod. "Good." Sherlock rocketed up, dropping John in a heap on the floor. The intimate warmth and connection John had reveled in gone.

Sherlock towered above him, hands on hips. “John Watson, get up off that dirty floor and go wash up. You filthy boy. How are you going to help me in the lab if you’re covered in germs?” There was no heat in his voice, and John allowed himself a small grin. 

He knew orgasm would be delayed for himself, but also it'd be spectacular. So, he hopped up and over to the sink, as Sherlock slipped into his shirt. “Hurry, John. If you are to be my assistant, then you must be prompt!”

John scrubbed his hands, arms, face and chest with glee. Not only was he going to have another mind blowing orgasm later. He was actually going to be assisting Sherlock in his lab.  _This is bloody fucking awesome_ , he thought to himself.  _Life is so good_. 


End file.
